He twisted round in his seat so that he could look at them. The white moonlight lighted his face. It frightened George. The ghastly scar burned red, and there was a look of animal viciousness and hatred in Sydney's eyes.
'We'll go in together,' Sydney went on. His voice trembled in a breathless kind of way. 'If he shows fight, give George the gun. Now listen, George, this is important. Go up to him and ram the gun in his stomach. Do you understand? Wind him. Look tough. You don't have to say anything; I'll do the talking. When Cora gives you the gun, walk up to him and slam it in his guts. That'll take the starch out of the rat. You wait: it'll do you good to see the way he'll curl up. Then we'll go for him.'
George licked his dry lips. 'Listen, just a minute. . .'
Cora put her hand on his knee. Her touch sent the blood pounding in his head. Words of caution died in his mouth.
'What is it?' Sydney asked.
'Nothing,' Cora said. 'He's fine, aren't you, George?'
'Well, don't mess about,' Sydney said. 'This is serious. Now come on; let's get it over.'
He got out of the car.
'We're coming,' Cora said.
As Sydney moved away down the lane she fell against George, her hands pulling his head down to her open mouth. A suffocating desire engulfed him. They remained like that for some time, their mouths crushed together, and then Cora pushed him away and slid out of the car.
'Come,' she said.
As if hypnotized, George followed her. His heart hammered against his ribs and blood sang in his ears. He couldn't think about Crispin. He couldn't think of anything.
Cora held his arm. She was pulling him along. He couldn't see, and his feet stumbled. Sweat dripped down his face. The air had gone dead. There was no movement in the trees; no wind, only a hot stillness that oppressed him. In the distance, thunder rumbled. A line of black clouds began to edge above the horizon.
'Quiet,' she said softly, and he could feel her trembling.
Sydney moved towards them out of the darkness.
'It's all right,' he whispered. 'He's there, and alone.'
He went on ahead. Cora followed, seemingly able to see in the dark. She steered George through a gateway and tip an overgrown path. Then suddenly they came on a small bungalow. One window was open, and light streamed from it into the garden.
The three of them stopped abruptly. Thunder crashed not far away, startling George, so that he clutched Cora's arm. Her muscles felt hard under his hand, as if she were keyed up, her nerves at breaking point.
They edged forward so that they could look into the room. Crispin, in a blue and white flowered dressing- gown, was sitting at a table. A cigarette dangled from his lips; he was writing on a pad of notepaper. A lawyer's briefcase lay half open at his elbow. It appeared to be bulging with pound notes.
George shivered. The sight of all that money frightened him even more than the thought of bursting in and assaulting this strange-looking man. He glanced at Sydney. He could just make out his features in the light from the window. He was hissing between his teeth, a frightening look of pent-up hatred in his eyes.
A spear thrust of blue-white lightning split the sky, was followed in a few seconds by a tremendous clap of thunder. George ducked instinctively. A drop of ice-cold water fell on his hot face. It began to rain.
Cora jerked at his arm. Sydney was already creeping towards the front door. In a kind of dream, George followed him. As before, when they had burst into Robinson's room, he suddenly felt extraordinarily at ease. This was, of course, just another of his fantasies. George Fraser, millionaire gangster, was again on the job. It couldn't really be happening to poor old George, the lonely, catloving hook tout. Not this: this was too fantastic. It would be all right. In a few minutes Leo would come in and jump up on his bed. Ella would come in with his tea. There was no need to get alarmed, or for his heart to pound like this. He might just as well enjoy this fantasy. What the devil was this little runt of a Sydney doing, leading the way? George Fraser always led the way. It was too late now. Sydney had opened the front door. They were all in the room now, looking at Crispin.
This was exciting! Crispin was behaving just as George imagined he would behave. He had turned green with terror.
George flexed his great muscles and scowled at him.
'Hello, Crispin,' Sydney said.
Crispin put a hand on the leather briefcase. He didn't move his body and he didn't say anything.
'Get up, Crispin,' Sydney said. 'I've had to wait a long time to get even with you. We have you now where we want you.'
Slowly Crispin rose to his feet; even then he couldn't find his voice.
'I've brought a whip,' Cora said, polite as a tailor at a fitting. She pulled the whip from her trouser leg and laid it on the table.
'We'll start with that,' Sydney said.
Cora zipped open her bag casually and took out the Luger.
A faint click sounded through the room. It was immediately lost in a clap of thunder.
'Here, George,' she said, and pushed the gun into his hand.
George looked at Crispin. Crispin looked at him and then at the gun. His face seemed to fall to pieces. He began to back slowly away.
